


The Dress

by holysmotez



Series: Remake Deleted Scenes [6]
Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Angst, Deleted Scenes, Double Feature, F/M, Mako Reactor 5 aftermath, Marle being awesome, Spoilers, sporty dress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24337840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holysmotez/pseuds/holysmotez
Summary: This is another 'deleted scene' fic, exploring how, with the help of wise old Marle, Tifa came up with the dress she wore later in Chapter 9.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Series: Remake Deleted Scenes [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1732945
Comments: 20
Kudos: 88





	1. The Dress

**Author's Note:**

> I premised this fic based on the 'sporty' dress option for Tifa, as that was my pick on my first playthrough of the game. Also, I've decided to name Marle's dog 'Rascal' throughout all my deleted scene fics until indicated otherwise, so there's also that. lol

She lost track of time long after she had turned out her light, her mattress having all the comfort of a stone slab against her back as she tosses and turns. For the hundredth time that night, she huffs, rolls over onto her left, and lets her stare drift toward the barrier of privacy stalls and walling that divides hers from the next apartment over. 

Same as yesterday, same as the night before that, her restless mind denies her even a few precious hours of sleep. Rule number one for life on the ground floor, broken. It breaks each and every time her persistent thoughts keep wandering over to the boy next door. 

And so the night drags on, eternal. 

Squeezing her dry eyes shut, she runs a hand over her face. She overcommitted, hadn’t she? First Avalanche, now this. Had she come on too strongly? Why couldn’t she have just waited and seen how things played out? She should have at least had a dress in mind before asking him such a bold thing.

She needs a second opinion. Her options, however, are painfully limited. Biggs’ talents lay with circuits and machinery, not threads and fashion. Ditto Wedge. It was too difficult to coax a serious answer out of Jessie, and she didn’t care to get into another argument with Barret.

That left only one other person she might confide in. Unable to lie still for even one more maddening minute, she throws off her blankets.

After slipping on her boots, she gingerly exits her apartment. She winces when the latch clicks shut behind her, shattering the quiet of the peaceful night. She waits, frozen, listening out for any sound to come from apartment 202. She inwardly heaves a sigh of relief when it never comes. Just her luck that Cloud seems to be sleeping like the dead tonight. 

She pushes off from the door and makes her way downstairs with light, silent steps. But after coming to a stop at the door of apartment 103, her confidence evaporates when self-awareness hits her like a slap to the face. 

Distantly, mako power transformers hum, low and resonant. The pitiful mewl of a stray cat carries out over the otherwise slumbering neighborhood. The hour must be ungodly. Breaking rule number one for herself is one thing, but depriving someone else of their rest - especially someone she adores, and one who practically wrote the rulebook herself - feels like a crime.

She’s being selfish again, isn’t she? 

But she also no longer has the luxury of time. With Avalanche planning to follow up on Mako Reactor 1 as soon as possible, by tomorrow it might be too late. Steeling her nerves, she raises her fist to knock.

No answer. Doubts and self-reproach erupt inside her again. The longer she stands there, the more the urge to turn back around, head back upstairs, and figure something else out becomes unbearable. But as she’s about to pivot on her heel, the door lock unlatches, and the door casts open.

Squinting and bleary-eyed, Marle stands just inside the threshold, wrapping herself up in a light robe, her lips smacking with a yawn. “Tifa?” she asks, her sleep-hazed eyes sharpening into focus. “What’s the matter?”

Sheepish, Tifa shrugs, curling a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey, Marle. I know it’s late, but can I come in?”

Another wide yawn escapes from Marle’s lips. “Of course, my dear.” She steps aside to let Tifa through. Marle’s dog, Rascal, stands from where he had been curled up on his rug just inside the door, and greets her with a lick to her hand. 

“I’m really sorry I woke you. Both of you,” Tifa says, scratching Rascal behind his ears.

Marle shuts the door behind her, waving her off. “You know you can come to me anytime, day or night. Why don’t you have a seat?” She gestures to the hard plastic chair next to a small desk. Tifa sits, straight-backed, folding her hands in her lap. Rascal, too, settles back into a curled up ball on his rug.

Marle joins her, seating herself on the edge of the bed across from her. “Now, what’s on your mind?” 

“Well…” Tifa says, gulping down the rest of her sentence when her pulse quickens, and her stomach somersaults. 

“Go on. Spit it out.” Marle says. “What’s got you this worked up so late?”

“I’m not _worked up_ , I just...I guess I need some advice? I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Advice? Oh, how I love to give advice. Go on, then. How can I help?” 

Tifa glances along the far wall, at the ceiling, at Rascal, and just about everywhere else, as if she might avoid the Marle’s shrewd gaze. “I-, um, I might have committed myself to something without really thinking it through.” She shrugs, chuckling at herself. “So what else is new, right?”

“Tifa. Look at me.”

Tifa obeys her firm, yet gentle command. The soft concern Tifa finds looking back at her makes her want to weep. What was she so timid about? She didn’t want Marle to worry, but why did it feel like her heart was suddenly lodged in her throat?

Marle asks her, “You aren’t in any sort of bad trouble, are you?”

“Oh, no! Nothing dangerous, don’t worry. It’s just…”

“Just what, dear?” 

Keeping Marle’s steady gaze, Tifa swallows down her heart and says, “I asked Cloud out for a night on the town.” 

Only then does Tifa let her eyes dart back down to her hands folded in her lap. When she looks up again, the soft concern has been replaced by a mischievous shine in Marle’s eye, and a wide grin splitting her lips. 

“You did, did you? And since when do you do the asking, hmm?” Marle says.

Tifa makes a face. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. It’s just to celebrate! Cloud and I haven’t seen each other in so long, you know? Not since we were kids. So I thought it’d be a nice chance to catch up outside of his, well...you know what he does for a living. Problem is, I don’t actually have anything like what he suggested I wear.”

Marle reels. “ _He_ suggested?” she echoes, chuckling.

“What’s so funny?” Tifa asks, trying to suppress her rise of irritation from the crone’s reaction.

Marle continues to laugh and waves a hand in front of her face. “Nothing, nothing at all, except that you’re coming to me at the dead of night because you need some fashion advice for a date, is that it?”

“It’s not like that. We’re just friends catching up.”

Marle chuckles. “Uh-huh. Well, then it’s a very special occasion, at least. I get it. And one you’re willing to take his advice for, god help you. So? What did he say you should wear?”

“He said ‘something sporty’, but I don’t know. I told him I’m not sure how that’s different from what I usually wear.”

“Ah.” A fond expression softens the wrinkles around Marle’s gaze. “Maybe that’s the point, my dear.”

“Huh?”

Marle reaches out for Tifa’s hand resting in her lap, and squeezes it. “He must like you just the way you are. I think I’m starting to understand why he’s occupying your thoughts so much these days.”

“Marle,” Tifa says, chest twisting, and warmth rushing to her cheeks.

Marle lets her hand go and sits back. “But even so, a musclehead like him may not have much of an imagination for the finer things.” Conspiratorially, she puts the back of her hand to her lips, saying, “No harm in helping him expand it, wouldn’t you say?”

Tifa smiles. “Mine, too, to be quite honest. I don’t think I’ve worn a dress since I was a kid.”

Marle clicks her tongue. “And isn’t that a crying shame. Unfortunately, I can tell you plainly that nothing you’re going to find around here in the undercity will do.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you want to knock him out of his boots - at least, not in the way that you’re trained for - then I think it’s time I called in a favor.”

“A favor? What sort of favor? What are you doing?”

Tifa scoots back in her chair when Marle slips from her seat on the bed and squats down. She sweeps her hand underneath the bed, fishing for something. The crone a-has, and pulls out a toolbox. From it, she extracts a roll of measuring tape. Next, she goes to her small desk and finds a pencil and small notepad. She tells Tifa, “I have a friend in town who’s got a few connections with tailors who work topside. But first, I’ll want to have your measurements on hand, if that’s alright?” 

“What? Wait, that’s really not necessary. Maybe Cloud and I could just go out in plain clothes after all. I don’t want to cause you any trouble over this.”

Putting a hand to her heart, Marle says, “Nonsense! This is no trouble at all. Besides, it’s the least I could do for him, too. Even though it pains me to admit it, ever since he showed up, it’s as if he brought with him a bit of your spark, too.”

Tifa opens her mouth, but says nothing, struck speechless. She couldn’t deny it how different things felt ever since she found him huddled at the train station. Easier. Despite the awkwardness between them, she had to admit that having him around felt like a weight had lifted off her shoulders that she hadn’t known was there.

Marle nods. “So, don’t you worry. Now, I’ll need for you to stand up, my girl.”

“Did you say topside?” Tifa repeats, awed, but she does as asked. She stands up. “And you’re sure this isn’t any trouble?”

“Positive. Now, quit wasting your breath arguing with me. Unless you’ve changed your mind?

“No!” Tifa says, a little quickly. “I mean, no. Go ahead.”

“Wonderful. Now, hold still,” Marle tells her, threading the tape measurer behind her back. She measures around her bust, her waist, and her hips. She then turns her about and measures her across her shoulders, and down her arms and legs. For each, she leans over her desk and scribbles down the measurements on the notepad. “Great. I hope to have something on its way for you by tomorrow night.”

“So soon? But Marle, we have, um...you know. There’s a job tomorrow.”

Marle nods. “I see. Then I hope your merc will be in the mood to celebrate your success in giving Shinra another bloody nose, too.”

“Right. If he’s still around.” Her heart, along with her expression, sinks as she considers that possibility. 

Marle gives her a sharp look. “If he knows what’s good for him, he will be. I’ll find some work to keep him busy in the meantime, how about that?”

As Tifa regards her, her heart swells with gratitude and admiration. Not just these past few minutes, but for all the years Marle had been there for her. What would she have ever done without her? 

Unable to contain it, she thrusts open her arms, her lips quivering. With a warm smile, Marle steps into her, wrapping her up in her own arms with maternal tenderness. Over her shoulder, Tifa says, “Thank you, Marle. I’m starting to think I could work a few lifetimes at the bar and still never be able to repay you.”

Marle releases her, stepping back. With a brow raised, she taps a finger against her chin. “Perhaps if my next water filter is on the house, then we can call it square.”

Laughing, Tifa says, “I think that can be arranged.”


	2. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I am persuaded enough to share the second part of this 'deleted scene' fic! I hesitated because it's a bit more angsty, as it details the events from Tifa's POV following the destruction Mako Reactor 5. 
> 
> Also included is how I imagine Tifa might have gotten herself involved as Sam's bridal candidate for the Don. Hope you'll enjoy my take.

The fires of Mako Reactor 5 smolder into the next morning, the ruptured stack spewing black ash and soot like an industrial volcano. Somewhere strewn about in its vicinity, the twisted scraps of Shinra’s prized Airbuster burn within that wreckage, too, as further proof that Avalanche had held their ground last night. They pulled off the job, left the field with their lives, and proved to all of Midgar that Shinra wasn’t invincible.

But as Tifa learned from the devastating counterstroke they suffered, neither were they. 

Barret, too, seems subdued, equally chastened by the turn of their fortunes. And Cloud--

Tifa’s chest clenches. The two survivors exchange hardly a word with one another after having stayed their own execution on the reactor’s walkway. Given the state of their appearance, and with their IDs all but useless, they don’t bother trying to board another train. Fortunately, Biggs intercepts them as they make their way off the plate, his excitement over their recent victory evaporating the second he gets a good look at their singed bodies and listless eyes. Wordlessly, he guides them to where he stashed a few getaway bikes, just in case. 

Back on the ground floor of Sector 7, they abandon their bikes near the train station, and continue trudging back home on foot. Tifa glances over to the morning commuter cars, remembering the rush of adrenaline she felt when they had first boarded that train bound for topside. She remembers how her nerves sang with anticipation of their impending success when they had planted that bomb.

Now, though, having traded Cloud for it, the excitement lost its appeal, the nervous, burning thrill of it all doused cold by his absence. 

_Cloud._

She had no words for how achieving a hard-earned victory could also feel like a staggering loss. She deserves worse than to limp home with her body riddled with bruises and burns. His life wasn’t worth it. His life wasn’t worth blowing up all the reactors in Midgar. Yet as he plummeted down into the black smoke, all she could think was that it was all her fault. Tifa wipes at her eyes with the back of her arm, the leather of her bracer blackened with soot.

At the bottom of Seventh Heaven’s steps they find Marle, waving to them as she greets their return. She says, “Tifa! Barret! Oh, thank goodness you’re all still in one piece. We saw it all over the news!”

Trundling up to her, Barret grunts. “Heh. Like I told Tifa, that piece of shit Shinra mech wasn’t ‘bout to give us the curtain call. And not for the merc, neither.”

Marle crosses her arms and she glances around them. “And just where is your merc? Cloud, wasn’t it?”

“He…” Tifa starts, voice still raw after shouting to Cloud as he dangled from the platform. She stares at the ground, bringing her hand up to clutch at her elbow.

She feels Barret’s hand settle on her shoulder. He says, “Idiot decided to show off and took a different escape route, let’s just put it that way.”

Marle says, “Well, I’m glad at least the two of you are here. I hate to lay on more bad news, but we had some rough-looking characters come sniffing about while you were away. I chased them off, but they were asking a lot of questions about Avalanche.”

Tifa straightens from leaning against Barret, perturbed. “Who were they?”

“Didn’t say, but I recognized the emblems they all wore. Gaudy son of a bitch can’t help flaunting what, or who, he owns.”

“Who, Marle?”

Marle scoffs. “None other than that human sewer rat himself, Don Corneo.”

Tifa blanches. “Why? What does someone like him want to know about Avalanche?”

“Don’t have a clue, but they insisted on speaking to a man with a gun for an arm.”

Barret turns around, fuming. “Shit, well ain’t I just a popular guy,” he says, pacing. “First Shinra, now some slimy kingpin wants a piece of me, do they? Well, bring it on!”

“Barret, I think you need to go to the bar, right now, and plan on laying low for a while,” Tifa urges. “Biggs, Wedge, Jessie, all of you. None of you should be outside like this, in fact. Who knows who might be watching.”

Barret continues to huff, agitated, but he seems to settle as he absorbs her logic. The tight fury he kept in his broad shoulders deflates. He gestures to her. “An’ what about you?”

Tifa sighs. “I guess I’ll still have to open the bar. Act normal, I guess. Patch myself up and hope no one shady recognizes me from the news.”

“Be sure to switch the TV to a sportscast, then,” Barret tells her, turning on his heel and heading up towards Seventh Heaven.

“Right,” Tifa says mirthlessly.

As Barret leaves, Marle takes a step toward her, a deep frown still on her lip. “Guess this isn’t the time to mention that my friend already has your dress ordered.”

Tifa shakes her head, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry, Marle. I think Cloud and I will have to take a raincheck.”

“Oh, come here,” Marle says, beckoning her into a tight hug. “You just wait. He’s going to come storming in through those Sector gates any moment. You want to cheer up? Then just imagine his face when you show him the suit that goes with your dress.”

“What?” Tifa says, pulling back from her.

Marle shrugs. “I might have mentioned that this dress was most definitely not intended for a date. Also, that your not-date definitely could not take you out while looking like some military-issued escort. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Marle.”

“I didn’t have his measurements, so you’ll forgive me if I went with my best guess.”

“Marle!” Tifa fights down the flush rising to her cheeks, amusement rapidly pushing aside her despair.

“See, my dear? You look much more at ease already. Keep thinking positive and looking forward to your future.”

Tifa knew better than to argue. “Right. I will. But I think I’ll start by looking forward to a hot shower, first.”

“That’s the spirit.”

* * *

After bidding Marle goodbye, Tifa heads back to Stargazer Heights, where she makes good on her desire for a shower. A long one. After scouring off the char and grime of last night’s chaos, she leans against the stall, letting her tired muscles absorb the heat until the water runs cold. 

Freshened up, she makes her way back to Seventh Heaven, up the stairs, and into the comforting shelter of her second home. Thankfully, Barret seems to have fully agreed with her when she told him to lay low. He and the others were nowhere in sight. Alone, and with little else to do with herself, she starts to prep for the day’s service. 

With everyone spooked by the recent bombing and the overhanging menace of Don Corneo’s goons, she doesn’t expect service to be very heavy. Her instincts prove true as the hours drag, and day wanes into evening. Business is so slow that she starts her closing duties almost an hour early. But as she’s about to go lock the door, she pauses in her tasks behind the bar when she hears an unusual sound.

“Kweh! Kweh.”

The telltale warble of a chocobo drifts in from the outside. It’s rare that she has customers arrive by chocobo. With her curiosity piqued, she keeps an eye trained on the door as she finishes washing up a few beer glasses. Then, to resolve her question, a face she only sees once in a blue moon pushes past her doors. In his signature cowboy hat and well-trimmed beard, the heels of this customer’s boots thud against the wood floor as he saunters up and saddles himself at the bar counter.

“Evening, missy,” he says, pulling at the brim of his hat.

“Well howdy, Sam,” Tifa greets. “Haven’t seen you around these parts in a while.” 

“Has been a spell, ain’t it? Single whiskey, neat, if you please.”

Tifa nods, pours him his drink, and slides it over. “And just what brings you around this one-chocobo town?”

Sam grins, humoring her. He takes a single coin out of his pocket, and he spins it on the counter. “Well, you see, I’m in a bit of a bind, girly. So I thought I’d come by and drown my sorrows.”

Tifa picks up a washed glass and starts drying it with a dishrag. “I’m sorry to hear it. But I’m pretty sure you can’t throw a rock in Wall Market in any direction without hitting another watering hole. So what made you come out all the way to Seventh Heaven this time?”

Sam sips on his drink. Says, “For the peace and quiet, for one. Market’s got too much goin’ on for when you’re wantin’ to hear yourself think. For another, ain’t no barkeep in Wall Market as easy on the eyes as you, my dear. Heck, not in all the undercity, I reckon.”

“Sam…”

“I know, I know. I ain’t tryin’ to make a pass at ya. But it does remind me of my predicament.”

“What’s that?”

Sam grumbles, taking another pull. “Ain’t no thing you ought to worry your pretty head about.”

“Maybe you ought to let me decide that for myself, partner.”

Sam shakes his head. “Ain’t that I don’t think you should, but don’t let this sad sack keep you from doin’ your work, now.”

“Try me.”

He rolls the drink glass in his hand, the lights shimmering off of the rusty gold color of its contents. “You really in the mood to listen?”

Tifa gestures to the empty barroom. “Not much else to do at the moment. And what kind of a bartender would I be if I didn’t want to listen to people tell me their stories?”

Sam nods, a dark chuckle escaping him, and a wry smile growing on his whiskered lip. “You’ve got yourself a good heart, Tifa. Me, not so much. I made some wrong turns in my life, and the last one I made was a real doozy. Made a real bad bet, and now I’m beholden to the biggest bag of manure to ever walk on two legs.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam takes another sip of his whiskey, then regards her in his cryptic way. “You know how I came to own the sole chocobo carriage business in this side of the undercity?”

Tifa picks up another beer glass and starts running the rag over it. “Can’t say you’ve ever mentioned it.”

“It’s ‘cause I sold my soul, little missy. All for a little power. Word of advice, even in your lowest moment, don’t you ever do a damn fool thing like that. Even if you do end up swimming in gil.”

“Just who is this ‘bag of manure’ you’re talking about?”

  
He takes another pull off his drink, followed by a deep scowl. “Who you think? Here’s another reason I’m drinkin’ here tonight: ‘cause Don Corneo’s got eyes and ears hidin’ under every rotten piece of trash in Wall Market.” He spits it out like a curse, teeth bared like fangs. He knocks back the rest of his glass. He stops short of slamming the empty glass back down, but the harsh clatter of its bottom against the countertop still rings out through the barroom.

Tifa stops wiping the glass in her hand. “Did you say Don Corneo?”

He holds up his hand. “Please, don’t assault my ears anymore with the sound of that name. And I’ll have another, if you don’t mind.”

Tifa snatches up the whiskey and a fresh glass. She upturns the bottle, pouring him enough for a double. She slides it over and tells him, “On the house.”

He raises his brow, nodding to the drink. “Shoot, missy. You sure you ain’t the one makin’ a pass now?”

She rolls her eyes at the remark and says, “No, but I’m hoping I could still ask for a favor anyway.”

He huffs, amused. Picking up the fresh glass, he holds it up in front of him. Says, “Well, in consideration of your generous hospitality, I'll listen to it. Can’t promise anything more than that.”

“Fine by me.”

“Alright, then. What you need, pretty girl?” He brings the whiskey to his lip.

“I need to meet with the Don.”

Sam, already in mid-sip, swallows hard and starts sputtering, sending a spray of whiskey into the air. He beats his chest with his fist and says, “I’m sorry, what now? Could’ve sworn I heard you say you wanted to ‘meet with the Don’.”

“I did. I need to ask him some questions.”

“Are you out of your warkin’ skull, lady?”

“I know, but trust me. I know what I’m asking.”

Sam sets his glass down and leans in, elbows digging into the counter. He levels a hard gaze at her, saying, “No, honey. I’m not sure if you do. The Don don’t take housecalls on a whim, even from pretty flowers like yourself.” His eyes trace the length of her body. “Especially when they’re lookin’ like more of a thorn than a rose.”

“Come on, Sam.” She leans in herself to whisper, “Look. He’s been sending his men over here, and I need to find out why before someone gets hurt. Do you know what he might want with us?”

Sam leans back, his expression severe as though in serious thought. He drums his fingers on the counter. Says, “Can’t say that I do. I ain’t privy to that sort of business. Listen, even if you did manage to sweet talk your way into some sort of parley, he ain’t the type to let you leave without giving him something in return. You’re just his type, by the way. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I might even try to persuade you into the next bridal audition, just to save my own hide.”

Tifa perks up. “Bridal audition?”

“Aw, shit,” Sam grumbles, looking aside. He waves his hand. “Forget I even said that.” He snatches back up his glass and takes another healthy swig, his double going down faster at this rate than his single.

“No, what’s this about a bridal audition?” she presses.

Sam’s whiskered cheeks balloon up when he blows out his next breath. Looks up to the ceiling, clicking his tongue. “I don’t want you to think any less of me, even if I ain’t got a good heart like you, Tifa. But you know what? I probably deserve it, so what the heck.”

He explains his position to her, his membership among the Trio of head merchants in Wall Market, and that ever so often, he and his other two associates are tasked with sending the Don a potential bride. Tifa chews the inside of her cheek as he talks, and the more he explained, the more obvious it became what she needed to do. 

This time, this was something good she could do on her own, and no one else would have to get hurt because of her. 

“And if I don’t have somebody to present for the Don by tonight, then chances are he’ll put me out to pasture by this time tomorrow. Maybe I ought to just take my Chocobo and skip on out of Midgar for good,” Sam finishes.

Resolved, Tifa tells him, “I’ll be your bride.”

A bark of laughter bursts from his lips. “Music to my ears.”

She makes a face. “Wait, I mean-,”

He chuckles. “I know, I’m just messin’ with you. Kinda like you’re messin’ with me right now.”

“No, I’m not kidding. I need to meet with the Don, and you need to stay in his good graces, right? So let’s help each other. It’s a win-win.”

He glances over to his neglected coin on the bar counter. He picks it up and turns it over between his fingers, his expression falling into another hard scowl. “Win-win, you say? Seems like you’re really stretchin’ that there definition, missy.”

“Please?” she says.

He huffs. Throws back the rest of his whiskey, then pockets his coin. He then says, “You know what? Alright. If that’s the way you want it. Helps me out a bundle, that’s for sure. But just don’t say I didn’t warn you. Repeatedly.”

“I know, and don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

“Of that I don’t doubt. Helps ease my conscience, too, since I reckon you might be the only gal with a chance of gettin’ out of there in one piece. You do got somethin’ else to wear though, right?”

Tifa glances down at herself. “Huh?”

“Remember what I said about lookin’ more like a thorn? You gotta look more like the rose if you wanna make this work.”

Her fists clench. Her stomach sinks. How was she supposed to explain this to Marle? Marle was going to throttle her for this, and throttle her again for using up her favor towards ingratiating herself with Don Corneo, of all people. 

Like a sucker punch from the Airbuster, it hits her that what she really wanted was for Cloud to be the first to see it on her.

But just as her mind pulls in his direction, so too does it pull towards her friends, Avalanche, and the people of Sector 7. People like Marle, and little Marlene. The people who count on her to keep them and their neighborhood safe. The same people who had welcomed her, and had done so much for her over the years. These were the people who offered her a hand up in the time since she had woken up in this city with nothing left to her name but her life.

She clutches a fist to her heart.

_Forgive me, Cloud._

“Yeah. I have a dress,” she says.

Sam tosses some gil on the counter and rises from his seat. “Terrific. Then I’ll swing by with a carriage in a couple of hours. And thanks for the drink. Maybe if you do somehow make it out in one piece, I might just become a regular.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno if I'm ready to write out the conversation Tifa has with Marle about her plans, lol. I think my soul needs me to write some Cloti fluff after all this, tbh.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
